


Holiday Prompts (December '16)

by Lyonface



Series: Prompt Fills and Flash Fiction [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cheers!AU, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 00:53:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9468227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyonface/pseuds/Lyonface
Summary: Prompts sent from Patrons on December 2016 from a pre-made list.Between the holidays and some killer Seasonal Depression, these stayed unfinished until well into December. I received a good number more, but they were all sent without my monthly password, so they will be kept on backlog and written when the mood strikes me.





	1. We're playing in the snow and you suddenly tackled me... // Galenris

**“we were playing in the snow and you suddenly tackled me to the ground and now…we’re just…staring… at each other…” (Galenris, Cheers!au) ~~snowflake~~**

—

It didn’t matter how long he’d been in Ferelden. He would never get used to the weather, the snow, the _cold_.

Fenris shuddered, his breath turning instantly to fog as he walked, a warm, puffy jacket doing its best to insulate his body heat, but it wasn’t enough. It never felt like it was enough. He lived up north as far back as he could remember before leaving that damnable place, and each new place he lived had been colder than the last. Even worse, the snow made it impossible for him to work, the construction sites closing for good reason, so he had no work until the ice and snow had cleared. As much as he liked having time off, all it did was bring him to the bar he frequented earlier to spend time with his new friend who worked their. This, of course, subsequently lead to him spending more than he needed, and since he wasn’t working, he wasn’t earning it back.

He huffed, reaching up to adjust the fat scarf that coiled around his neck.

“You’ll get back to work eventually,” Galaren told him, shrugging easily under his black, comfortable coat, “Just try to relax a little.” He’d managed to get off his shift during daylight hours and promised Fenris he would take him someplace that, according to him, had a fantastic view of the city and it looked beautiful covered in snow. Fenris obliged, though he doubted seeing anymore reminder of the cold would help his mood any.

“I need the money,” he groused from behind his dyed, patterned scarf, decorated in the colors of the season.

Galaren just rolled his eyes and shook his head, knowing full well that arguing with him would get him nowhere. “You’re so stubborn sometimes.”

“And that distinguishes you because…?”

He chuckled at that. “Listen,” he started, checking the mostly empty street before jaywalking, Fenris quick to follow him, “I know you hate the cold, but it can be really beautiful sometimes.”

The elf sighed but didn’t argue as they stepped back up on to the salted sidewalk, the crunch loud under their shoes. He did have to hand it to Ferelden, at least it wasn’t cold and _dry_. He had to admit that that would certainly be far less pleasant than cold and wet.

“I suppose it could be worse,” he muttered from behind his plaid barrier of wool.

Galaren just snickered. His body jostled a moment as his laughter was cut short, making a move as if to fall.

Fenris was quick to catch him by the shoulder, his hands shooting from the warmth near his body to grab a hold of him and steady him. “Be careful,” he chastised.

“Yeah yeah…” was his reassuring reply, the taller man squaring up and nodding. After a moment he found the right footing and ceased the wobble. Only then did Fenris let go, his hands retreating immediately back into the comfortable warmth of his pockets.

“Your balance is quite bad for working at a tavern,” Fenris said as Galaren crossed behind him to stand on his other side away from the road.

He cocked an eyebrow down at the elf as a response, so he continued, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. “There always seems to be at least one group of loud, gesturing drunkards at the bar when I arrive. They fling their glasses about and slosh beer everywhere, especially behind the bar where you are.”

Galaren groaned, tossing his head back as he did, rolling his eyes in exasperation. He knew _exactly_ who Fenris was referring to. “I should have them thrown out one day.”

“Hmph! Then you wouldn’t make any money.”

That earned him a scoff, “You think they tip better than the lonely, oogling women that come in? Please, Fenris.”

He hummed thoughtfully as they made to turn around a corner. He’d recalled a few instances of multiple people making eyes at Galaren, particularly when he left from behind the bar to the deliver orders to a table. Their interest was clear, and Galaren used it to his advantage. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to take him down a peg, and Fenris liked that line of thought.

“They seemed more interested in what you were bringing them than who was bringing it to them,” he answered.

Galaren shot him a knowing look, “Is that so? Well maybe you shou–!”

He lost his balance again, but this time with far too long of a stride to recover his balance. As he fell to the snow-covered hill beside him, he grabbed a hold of Fenris in a vain attempt for support, resulting in the two of them falling instead, slipping like children over a salted sidewalk.

Their bodies collided, Galaren’s back flat against the snow as Fenris groaned above him, nearly knocking the wind out of the both of them as their torsos awkwardly hit.

“Aggh, shite…!” Galaren grumbled, his voice croaking very close to Fenris’s ear.

Fenris groan, shifted his arms, one out from under him, and anchored them to push himself up, taking a breath. As he brought his arm out from under him, his cold cheek nudged Galaren’s and he froze a moment before pushing himself back.

The hood of his jacket framed his head, dark curls spraying out from around him. He barely opened his eyes, catching Fenris’s gaze, and his expression shifted in less than a second from pained and uncomfortable to stunned and a bit disoriented.

Fenris tried to catch his breath, the scarf around his neck feeling almost suffocating despite sitting incredibly loose around him. He looked over his winded face, his skin red from the cold and his eyes open and dark. As Fenris realized he was staring, he noticed too that Galaren’s eyes were far darker than he thought they were. Even then, when the sunlight hit them just right…

“Fenris? You okay?” Galaren asked, his tone entirely too nervous.

The elf blinked before feeling his face heat, realizing he’d been caught staring and scrambled up to his knees to sit back before finally getting to his feet. After a moment, he quickly and stiffly offered a hand down to him.

“…I’m fine,” he answered, not sounding at all collected.

Galaren took his hand, his panting crooking into a smirk as his ego came back to him, “Maybe I should bring you back down here.”

Fenris flattened his mouth and squared his stance, pulling Galaren up. With a sound of protest, his companion went up with him, pushing himself back to his feet. They both brushed at the snow on their coats and pants, a moment of awkward silence coming between them.

“Just…” Fenris started, hedging a look over at Galaren. When he turned, meeting his eyes, he looked away, shooting a complex look down at the ice below them, “Let’s just keep going.”

“Y-yeah, sure, let’s go,” Galaren answered, putting his own hands in his pockets and, watching where he stepped until they cleared the black ice, began to pick up their pace with no problem.

As Fenris looked at the other man’s back, his broad shoulders hidden somewhere under the puffed cotton and nylon of his jacket, he smiled to himself, quickening his pace to walk beside him again. As he brushed melting snow out of his hair and from his scarf, he decided that he could at least tolerate the cold, if anything.


	2. We're coworkers who hate each other... // Lionwolf

**[l](http://thelyonface.tumblr.com/tagged/december-prompts) ionwolf with a snowflake on top “we’re co workers who hate each other but you had too much to drink at the staff christmas party and admitted your love for me i don’t know how to act around you now”**

—

Hugging the wall of a community event seemed like a counter-intuitive place for Cullen to be, and yet here he was, willfully wedging himself between empty chairs not far from the food table, neatly set with pastries, finger food, and a large bowl of punch that had been spilled at least twice, both times by Sera. He didn’t much care for gatherings like this, he never has, but he understood that there were times where he had to suck it up and attend them regardless of his discomfort. Now was one of those times. At least he could choose his level of participation.

He could also be content, at least, knowing that a sharp look, even when paired with a festive sweater, could send anyone that may ask him to join in the group festivities spinning on their heels to face the opposite direction and avert their attention to more malleable targets. It meant that he was largely left alone while others were roped into doing ridiculous party games and dances, something he had absolutely no interest in being a part of, at last not after nearly stumbling into multiple intoxicated coworkers and his feet being stepped on far too many times.

He spotted a movement, smelling the sickly sweet, spiked punch far before he saw her. He pinned the lithe, tall elf with a look of calm disagreeableness but she was having none of it, meeting it head on with a wide jeer.

“C’mere, C’mmander Stickupyerarse…!” she grumbled, swaying on her legs as she made a swipe for one of his arms.

He moved easily out of her way, “Sera, no.”

Her tongue clicked against her teeth, irritated as she righted herself. “Yer no fun…”

Cullen pulled at his sweater and shifted on his feet. “I’m having plenty of fun.”

Sera wasn’t buying it, canting her hips and putting her hands on them as she scrutinized his knitted sweater. “Yew ‘n yer…” she reached for the word.

His eyebrows raised minutely as she scrunched up her face, failing to find whatever adjective or noun she was going for through the muddlement of alcohol in her system. Did she mean the pattern of his sweater? Surely not.

“Trebu–”

“Trebuchets! Who even gets that onna sweater anyway?” she said, perplexed, flicking her hand out with her wrists before turning to the punch bowl and grabbing a cup.

He opened his mouth to reply but it was too late, her mind now completely fixated on getting herself more inebriated. He let it go and lifted the rim of his cup to meet his lips as he heard her grouch from further down the table.

“Oy, back off a’right?!” There was a pause and her voice was renewed, amused, just barely audible over the music. “Wow, huh. I was gonna tell ya to getcher own but you’ve had plenty. Bad day Mr. Archowhateverlogy?”

An unamused, distinct voice replied in turn, “…Really? You had one more syllable, and instead you decide to mock it by making it more complicated?”

Cullen sighed at the cadence of the other man, recognizing him instantly. He was a consultant for multiple projects he had worked on since beginning to work in this city, and while he always had a fondness for his intellect and his confident and focused approached to his work, he always seemed to catch him in a bad mood as of late. Whenever he would approach him to consolidate on a mutual project, his rigidity and clipped replies made it a struggle to assess how he was, both professionally and personally. It wasn’t difficult to recall a time when he wasn’t always so cold, but Cullen had learned to live with it during these past few months.

The man emerged from the other end of the food table, donning a black turtle neck that hugged his slim, broad shouldered frame and slacks. Cullen was surprised to see that he was flushed in his face and ears and glanced at the cup in his hand, filled with something besides water. That was…unexpected.

When the irritated, inebriated elf met his gaze, he nodded agreeably and gestured slightly with his cup in hand, not avoiding eye contact.

“Solas,” he greeted.

Solas seemed to waffle a moment on how to react before deciding on courtesy, bowing ever so slightly in return. “Cullen.”

Cullen raised his cup to drink again and was surprised when Solas didn’t about-face back to thread through the crowd. Instead, he came to stand beside him, taking a short sip from his drink.

Well, no point in turning away the rare opportunity to speak with him. Cullen turned slightly to look back at Solas. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

Solas’s blue eyes flashed to look at him a moment before turning away, “I could say the same for you. This is hardly the sort of gathering I would imagine you attending.”

Cullen hummed and smiled a bit, looking back over the crowd as they started to dance to a song with a popular dance that he knew nothing about. “Not much anymore, I’m afraid. Still, they can be fun, given the right circumstances.”

A tilt of his head signaled his mild agreement. “Celebratory ones, I would imagine.”

“Are the holidays not a cause to celebrate?” he asked, his small teasing smile quirking the scar carved in a slash perpendicular to his mouth and over his upper lip.

It caught Solas’s attention when he turned to answer back, his eyes flicking immediately to the man’s grin before he looked away again. The action was stiff, but immediate.

“I would imagine that it would depend on both the holiday and the person’s enjoyment of said holiday.”

Cullen responded with an airy chuckle. “You are not a fan of Wintersend, I take it?”

A small frown drew Solas’s mouth down for a brief second before it was gone. He was quiet a moment, long enough that Cullen was afraid he might have offended him. As he opened his mouth to seek an apology, Solas answered, “Sometimes it is enjoyable, as it is meant to be. Other times it only serves to bring up memories I would rather not recall.”

That news was concerning, but not necessarily unexpected. Cullen pocketed his free hand as he hummed in acknowledgment. He was no stranger to bad memories; in fact, it could be easily argued that the majority of his memories were either of poor circumstance or events sprung from misery. Much of his life had been stained by those details, but for the last few years he has found some way to try to move passed them. He thought of the team he worked with, people he could genuinely call his friends, and it made him smile. He may be awkward at these kinds of functions, but even the water he drank tasted sweet when mixed with good company. Solas…was good company.

“You could always make new ones,” he suggested, gesturing slightly to Solas as he said it.

Solas turned to him, his eyes thoughtful, even just a bit more interested.

At his unexpected silence, Cullen stuttered to continue, “Er— The best way to chase bad memories away is to replace them with better ones, with the people you care about.”

“Is that why you are in attendance tonight?” Solas asked.

He glanced away, bringing his free hand to rub absently at the back of his neck. “I suppose it is. Is that not why you’re here, Solas?”

“I can enjoy the festivities on occasion,” he answered, a small smile on his lips, “But yes, since you asked.”

Cullen chuckled. “I admit I’m surprised you haven’t yet cleared the sweets table.”

“You have not been there,” he answered playfully, a slight crinkle to his eyes, “You can rest assured that I have done my part in alleviating the staff of some of their burden in the clean-up after the celebrations have concluded.”

It warmed Cullen to finally see him donning an honest smile, and it was infectious.

Solas turned away from him to look over the crowd after a moment, trying to suppress his expression. That was unusual; typically he had no problem looking contented and stoic. Cullen noted the flush on his skin again and decided that it was the drink affecting him. Come to think of it, despite how long they’d been acquainted, he couldn’t recall a time where he had seen the man intoxicated to a level that actually affected him.

“How much of that punch have you had?” he teases. “I could not drink it, not that I particularly wanted to in the first place.”

“Neither could nor did I,” he answered as he gestures with his cup, “This is from the open bar in the adjoining room. I would not deign myself to drink anything that smells of…” he trailed off, glancing at the bowl filled with the stuff, “syrup and paint-thinner.”

“Don’t forget Sera.”

Solas chuckled, “Yes, of course. Syrup, paint-thinner, and loud-mouthed interns.”

He laughed at that.

The two men lapsed into a moment of pleasant silence as the song came to an end and there was a lapse between songs. The dancers and participants clustered in the middle of the room began to move around, waiting in anticipation for the next song. This was what Cullen was more used to, a comfortable silence. Although he’d be foolish to think that Solas would be fine suddenly after all that time of being stiff before, he could always hope that this was the first day of change for the better in regards to his demeanor.

Solas swirled his drink around in his cup as he pondered a moment. “I wanted to…apologize, if I might.”

Cullen turned, looking at him questioningly.

Solas glanced back at him and, upon meeting his eyes, looked quickly away again, a strange air of sheepishness about his normal confident posture. “I have been…less than companionable as of late, and that has interfered with the work we have been doing.”

At least he was aware of it; it would have been worse if he hadn’t been. “I admit I have been…worried.”

A strange expression crossed his face. His reply was immediate, “You’ve no need to be. It will pass, as it always does.”

He moved a bit closer, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No,” he answered quickly, then stopped and sighed. “I appreciate the thought, but this is something I must work out on my own time.”

He would never be so frank with anyone besides him. “It’s been months, Solas.” At Solas huffing through his nose and bringing his free hand up to rub between his eyes, he continued, “I don’t want to upset you. I–.” He stops himself and reorients, “I’m worried, is all. …You understand.”

Cullen shifted his cup of water from one hand to the other. Solas turned bodily toward him, the black cotton of his shirt bathed in festive colors from the light fixtures decorating the area. “You do not upset me, Cullen. I–”

It appears they were both at a loss for words, and both suddenly awkward.

“I simply must–”

He flinches when a small batch of green is hurled from the crowd and bounces ineffectually off of his ear and on to the floor, hitting his elbow on the way down. Rubbing at the long arch of his assaulted ear, Solas pivoted with as much of a dignified air as he could muster, trying to find who threw it despite already knowing who it was.

“Sera,” the two of them say in unison, Cullen with a touch of affectionate amusement while Solas primarily with exasperation.

Fixing his blonde hair on the way back to his standing position, Cullen picks up the object and expects it. His ears turn slightly red when he realizes it’s mistletoe. “… Well…”

Where he would normally expect some quippy jest from Solas, it doesn’t come. Instead, the elf eyes the branch with a strangled look in his eye.

Unsure of what to do next, Cullen made a suggestion. “Shall we…throw it back?”

Solas glanced at his drink and huffs, squaring his shoulders. He seemed to have come to some kind of conclusion, or just gotten more stubborn. He turned back to Cullen now, looking at him thoughtfully, “Perhaps it is bait.”

His ears turned darker and he coughed, “Ah, b-bait?”

Solas nearly looked amused, and that did nothing for Cullen’s countenance. The elf tipped his drink back and downed the rest of it, his tongue darting to catch a stray drop on his lower lip. Well that was…hm…

Snapping out of his foggy trance, Cullen swallowed. “I will…throw it back.”


End file.
